Full Circles
by keanelle
Summary: She first saw him the day his heart began to fail. His loaned heart led him back to her, back home; his heart always belonged to her, after all. —Jerza AU


**Prologue: Death Sends its Regards**

* * *

" _A complete stranger has the capacity to alter the life of another irrevocably. This domino effect has the capacity to change the course of an entire world. That is what life is; a chain reaction of individuals colliding with others and influencing their lives without realizing it. A decision that seems minuscule to you, may be monumental to the fate of the world._ "

 **― J.D. Stroube, _Caged by Damnation_**

* * *

She always found it ironic how your entire life could completely shatter in a matter of a few, measly seconds. Be it in a mass of flames, broken glass, and screeching tires, or a small mistake with dire consequences. You could have little to no say in the matter, but you could be the most affected. It was unfair, yes, but when was life ever fair?

It was even more ironic that it was how _her_ life was ending.

The sound of the impact echoed through the air, a testament to what had just occurred. It was a mess of screeching, banging, and the sound of metal rubbing up against metal. TV and movies didn't do car accidents justice, she could now deduce. They didn't capture the heart-stopping fear, the confusion. They certainly made it seem less frightening than it _actually_ was.

Erza Scarlet didn't have the strength nor the willpower to scream. The sound of mayhem, of chaos, had her in its grip, suffocating her. All around her were people screaming, yelling frantically; the crackling of fire was loud and clear, the sound of sirens faint in the distance. She was too scared, too shocked, too... _startled_. When had Simon lost control of the wheel? Where had that truck come from? They were falling, rolling, dying. She was _dying._ The faces of her family, her friends, flashed through her mind. Her favourite memories, her low points and high points...whoever said your life flashed before your eyes in the face of death was accurate with their observation.

Their now wrecked car rolled to a stop at the base of the cliff that they'd been pushed off of, windows shattered and wheels gone. She couldn't tell if the other cars ended up in the same place, or if the truck had...she couldn't even tell if there were cars still falling. Everything had gone eerily silent, save for small bursts of sound every now and then. Was she...breathing? Or was that the feeling of the airbags pressing against her body, inflating quickly to save her from further harm?

Was Simon alright?

A renewed sense of panic settled into her bones at the thought of her beloved being severely injured. He hadn't said anything yet, hadn't so much as screamed. She tried to open her mouth, to his call his name, but her body wouldn't let her. No matter how much her mind demanded his name be spoken, her lips stayed unmoving, shocked into stillness. Why couldn't she move? The concept would've scared her more had it not been for the fear dominating her mind regarding Simon's well-being. She was screaming at herself, panicking, crying for her body to _work_ , damn it—

"E-Er...za..."

There. That voice... _Simon_. At the sound of the familiar voice, her body began to gradually unfreeze, giving her control yet again. Finally, the airbags deflated; overcome with the need for air, she gasped, body heaving in an effort to refill itself with oxygen. It was a difficult task, for the airbag had pressed her deep into her seat, pushing her back into the crevice and bending her body in ways it was not supposed to be bent.

"Simon!" Her voice came out as a rasp, but it was there, it was audible. To her ears, at least, and she desperately hoped Simon could hear her, too. " _Simon_!"

Warm fingers found hers not even a second after she cried out, rubbing soothing circles along the ridges of her knuckles. She felt the blood coating her skin, the pad of his thumb getting stuck to her skin as it moved across her bloodied hand. Still, he persisted; it had always been his favourite way of soothing her, but here and now it wasn't working. She needed a stronger reassurance that he was alive, well and breathing, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him.

What would she find?

"Hey," his voice was soft, strained, but still there. He was still breathing, still living, he was still _there_. "We're going to be okay, Erza, don't you...don't you worry, alright?"

With shaking fingers, Simon began to sift through his jacket pockets, searching for the small box he'd put there in the morning. It was a selfish notion, he knew deep down, but if he was to go, he wanted to go without regrets. Not asking Erza? It would be the biggest regret of them all. Finally making contact with the velveteen box, he pulled it out, flipping the cover open and staring down at the glittering ring.

"Simon? What are you doing?" It was odd, she thought, how they could carry on a normal conversation as if nothing was happening. As if they weren't bleeding, broken, and laying in the aftermath of a tragedy. His gentle hold on her fingers tightened for a moment, before he let go altogether.

"I had it all planned out," he chuckled, turning his head sideways to gaze at his girlfriend lovingly. She finally returned the look, equal parts scared and adoring. He was trying his best to be strong, for her, and to some extent it was working and she appreciated the notion. "Down to the time of what we would do...we would have a picnic, go sight-seeing, and then at night...we would stargaze. Reflect on the last five years. And then I would pull it out, and slip it on your fingers, kiss your lips as you say yes...at least, that's how it went my in head. In my dreams."

At first, her brain, due to its sluggishness, didn't understand what he was talking about, what he was trying to say. Slowly, though, she pieced together the evidence, realized what exactly he was saying, and that was when the tears started flowing down her cheeks, burning trails down her skin.

Turning as best he could, Simon gently grabbed for her hand, bringing it up to his lips and dropping a kiss to the bloodied appendage. She cried out, a sob escaping her lips, and he couldn't help but smile sadly at her. For the last 21 years, he had loved her, first quietly before he had garnered the courage to ask her to go out with them. And here they were now, five years later and as in love as they had been at the start.

"Erza Scarlet, will you marry me?"

There. The words were out in the open. She didn't need to say anything, didn't really need to do anything except nod, which she did, fervently. It caused her head to ache, brought about the need to vomit, but she kept nodding, a burst of laughter escaping her lips despite the situation they were in. The happy noise was contagious, and soon Simon was laughing too, leaning over best he could to meet her searching lips. His head was pounding— _aching_ to the point where if he was alone, he'd been withering in pain, but Erza was here and she was okay, save for the few scratches and bruises that tainted her porcelain skin. The sirens, that had been once so distant from where they had been falling through the air, were louder, amplified. The ambulances, firetrucks, and the police were all there, frantically trying to pick apart the situation and help whoever they could. There, she could make out a voice, albeit it was faint.

"There's two cars down at the bottom of the cliff! We need dispatch 411 down there, now!"

Erza spent a good minute straining her ears, trying to catch the instructions, the reports being given about their status. She knew the drill; two of her closest friends were homicide detectives. They would survey the scene, aid those in need, and then determine if the tragedy was the result of foul play or a legitimate accident. If it was the former, the homicide unit would be called in, and would start a formal investigation. Right now? Right now, Sorciere's finest were on step two; any surveying would've been done, and now it was time to help those in need. And in this case, that included Erza and Simon.

Due to her concentration on the police coming down to help them, Erza completely missed the sudden harsh intake of breath from Simon, missed the way his pupils dilated before he closed his eyes in pain. His head was pounding, the beat increasing in intensity and speed and its force nearly knocking him out cold. Somewhere in the darkest recesses of his heart, a pang of fear echoed, a whisper of a reminder flying through his mind. _You're mortal_.

"Simon!" Erza's cry of relief cut through the fogginess of his consciousness, a beacon of light leading him home. With a few, sluggish blinks, he managed to lift his head back up and off of the head-seat, offering her a small smile. "The police! They're here!"

"That's good," his words came out light and strained, as if he was breathless and speaking was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Before she could comment on it, though, the passenger's side door was ripped from its hinges, the sound startling the occupants of the car. A handful of police officers were milling about, attending to the cars that had slid off the cliff.

"Sir, ma'am, are you alright?" The officer that had taken off her car door asked, voice filled with genuine concern. She tried to nod, and winced at the thrumming pain in her body. Thankfully, the cop seemed to understand, and he gently helped her out of her seat and held her to stop her from collapsing onto the forest floor. They were helping Simon out, too, she realized, and leading them in the direction of the awaiting ambulance.

"The ambulance and trip to the hospital is just protocol, ma'am," the cop was saying, making idle conversation to keep her mind off of things. "They'll get you checked out, await on family to pick you up, and you and your husband can go home."

"Fiancee," she corrected him automatically, blushing bright red as the cop chuckled and corrected himself. But before she could apologize for the unnecessary correction, a flurry of cursing and yelling behind them had both of them pausing and turning.

Erza let out a cry of worry at the sight of Simon, body sprawled out on the floor with cops and paramedics alike checking on him and trying to wake him up. The cop let her go, and she raced to his side, caution thrown to the wind. Her knees burned as threw herself down, shaking hands smoothing back his hair as she desperately cried out his name. There was no response; he was out cold. What had happened? He'd been fine in the car-

A bone-chilling realization settled within her mind, and she couldn't help but curse their love. Simon Mikazuchi would do everything in his power to keep her safe, even if it came at a personal cost. A perfect example would be hiding his own pain to keep her calm and her fear at bay.

Is that what had happened in the car?

"Ma'am, we're going to need you to back away," one of the paramedics ordered, and the cop from before gently lifted her up and held her shaking body as the medics were quick to secure Simon to the stretcher before carrying him into the back of the ambulance.

"Can I ride in the ambulance with him?" She grabbed the arm of a passing by paramedic, who, upon seeing the panic and fear in her eyes, nodded with a kind smile. Thanking the cop who'd been keeping an eye on her throughout the whole ordeal, she raced towards the ambulance and climbing into the back.

"Simon," she whispered, voice cracking on the final syllable of his name. She slid down the built-in bench to sit next to him, her searching hands clasping around his cold fingers as the doors to the ambulance were shut and the driver pulled out.

The fear only grew as she took in the paleness of his face, the stillness of his body. He had to be okay.

 _He had to_.

* * *

Upon arriving at Sorciere, chaos erupted.

As soon as the ambulance rolled to a stop, the doors to the back were thrown open again, and everyone disregarded her in favour of her fiancee, who still hadn't waken up. She tried to stand up, but the constant flow of people coming into the ambulance to prep Simon for the move kept her glued to her seat with her back pressed up against the wall of the ambulance. She knew better than to try and interfere, but her worry was overclouding her senses.

"Follow us, ma'am, and we'll assign a room to you so a doctor can come check on you as soon as there's one available," one of the paramedics informed her with a smile. Erza appreciated the gesture, returning the smile and taking his offered hand as he helped her out and onto the pavement. They walked into the hospital through what she knew to be the emergency entrance, pausing at the desk so the man could grab the necessary papers. The smell of dirt and blood was heavy in the air, and she wondered if the others involved in the accident had already been brought in. The ward was oddly quiet.

"How is he?" She asked, voice hesitant, quiet, and everything she wasn't. The paramedic shot her a pitiful look, turning away from the papers he was searching through to look at her properly. He had already been given the number of the room he was to lead her into, and had been waiting on a doctor to come and assist her. A jolt of fear shot through Erza at the troubled look on his face, spreading a chill from her heart all the way to the tips of her fingers.

"Did they not tell you?" He asked softly. "Your fiancee suffered cerebral hemorrhage during the car accident."

She froze up, the severity of Simon's injuries nearly sending her to her knees. _Cerebral hemorrhage_? How had he fought through the pain for so long, whilst they were stuck in the car? How had he managed to think straight through the pain? So many questions, so many _regrets_ , flew through her mind, too quick for her to comprehend anything but the fact that Simon was hurt, _badly_.

The paramedics eyes went from pity to alarm very quickly at the sight of the scarlet-haired woman shaking, tears beginning to stream down her face as she fought to keep her cried under control. Her lungs were closing up, very quickly, and she could barely hear the sound of the medic's frantic cries as she began to sway. She was in shock, Erza realized. Her lungs weren't getting enough oxygen, not enough to keep her breathing. Simon, Simon, _Simon_ -

The sound of pounding footsteps caught her attention, but not enough to snap her out of her reverie. Someone's warm arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders, forcing her shaking to come to an end. Her lungs inflated just a touch, almost as if there was a sudden burst of oxygen within her. Her whimpers and cries, however, were a different story; whoever had her caged in their arms ran their hands, familiar, calloused hands, through her hair, someone else wrapping a large coat around her shaking form. They didn't stop their gentle touches until she was gasping for oxygen, leaning against their much larger frame and gulping down as much air as she could.

"Erza, it's okay, it' alright," his voice murmured into her ear, soft and deep and washing over her like sunshine. It was her brother, Laxus, she realized with a start. Laxus was here in Sorciere and he was holding her; and suddenly, everything felt marginally better. A childish voice in her head cheered loudly at the prospect of her older brother being her to protect her from not only the harshness of reality, but from herself.

 _Laxus was here_.

Slowly, she blinked away the unshod tears, Gray and Natu's worried faces becoming clearer and clearer. Whilst Natsu still had his coat on him, Gray stood in nothing but a thin tank top, and she made the connection between one of her best friends and the cloak keeping her warm. Thank you, she tried to say, but all that came out was a hoarse sound of agony. Gray seemed to understand what she was trying to tell him and in return he gave her a small smile of understanding, though it wavered as his eyes roamed her face, taking in the redness of her eyes and the still-wet tears staining her cheeks.

Somewhere in the background, she could hear Mira's melodic voice, nothing more than a soft murmur; she was talking to the paramedic that had been with her, Erza could deduce that much. She closed her eyes and tried to will away the images of Simon's prone figure laying on the dirt-covered trail, the images of the paramedics looks downright panicked as they hovered over his body without knowing how bad the damage was.

She let out a startled gasp as Laxus lifted her into his arms, bridal-style. Despite her muddled mind, she was quick to protest the action; per usual, he didn't listen, opting to carry her down the hallway as if he was still six and she was still five. As if he could still keep her safe from the horrors of the world, keep her safe and pure and _happy_. She could hear Gray, Natsu, and Mira following them, speaking in low tones to one another, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't hear what they were saying. Only when she allowed herself to relax in Laxus' arms did the ache in her body return with a vengeance, intense and relentless.

"Take a left, and it's the first door on your right. Room 173," Mira instructed her husband softly, watching him nod in understanding. Laxus did exactly that, carefully shifting his sister around to free up one of his hands to open the door with, leading their small group into the room where the Lucy awaited them, anxious and pacing. Upon seeing the others enter the room, a soft cry of Erza's name left her lips before she could stop it.

Erza didn't have to the strength to even offer her a smile.

Laxus gently sat Erza down on the bed across the room, hands trailing up her arms to firmly grasp her shoulders and forced her to look at him. He knew her better than everyone else, and could tell she was just going to exhaust herself into shock yet again.

"You need to calm down, kid, you're tiring yourself out," he told her firmly, using his age-old nickname for her. A soft sound of protest fell from her lips, but she knew he was right. Her panicking and crying wouldn't do Simon or anyone, really, any favours. With a sigh full of resignation, she leaned against her brother, closing her eyes and hoping her tears would stop if she willed them to. Laxus simply wrapped her up in his arms, holding her close and giving the comfort she was seeking.

"He's hurt, Laxus," her voice was dry, and speaking was a challenge. Still, she needed to speak the words, and above all else she needed someone to _listen_. "He's hurt really badly, and there's nothing I...there's nothing I can do."

"You're not a doctor, Erza," her brother spoke, not letting his own restlessness show. Still he held her. Still he tried to keep her safe. "The best you can do right now? Is sit here, stay calm, and pray that Simon comes out of this alive. Which he will, because Simon Mikazuchi isn't one to just give up."

It was then they heard the door being opened, and the sound of ragged breathing. Erza opened her eyes to glance at the newcomer, and felt a whole, new wave of pain hit her at the sight of a very frazzled Kagura Mikazuchi.

"Erza, what..." Kagura bring herself to say the words, couldn't bring herself to ask why her brother was in an emergency surgery. She knew the answer, knew her brother was hurt, but to have someone tell her would make things too... _final_. She watched Erza's mouth open and close, once, twice, before her friend simply shook her head sadly. Kagura bit her lip violently and seated herself in the nearest chair, mind in shambles and her heart feeling a hundred times heavier than it did mere moments ago.

Lucy's eyes went from face to face, before trailing back to where Erza sat with her shoulders hunched and quivering. Her heart ached for her best friend, someone who she had never seen so...desolate. With a slight shake of her head, she began to turn away, when a sparkle caught her attention. Her gasp was involuntary, instinctive, but loud enough to draw everyone's attention to her, including Erza's. Erza...who immediately understood what Lucy finally knew.

"When did he...?" The blonde couldn't finish the sentence, for she didn't want the implications of her words to be out in the air. But Erza knew what she was trying to ask, and could only nod in response, a new wave of tears hitting her.

"In the...in the car," she managed to say, voice wobbly. "Right after we hit the bottom of the cliff. Said he didn't want to go without regrets, that he knew it was him being selfish...but nonetheless pulled out the ring and proposed. In the middle of the dying chaos and all. I never thought him to be unorthodox, but I...he made the best of the situation, as he always has."

"Erza..." Lucy didn't know what to say, knowing better than mindlessly whispering 'sorry' again and again, especially to Erza of all people. Erza knew they were worried for her, knew their apologies and their condolences were nothing but sincere, but nonetheless she didn't want to hear them. Not repeatedly, at least. So, instead, she moved closer to the bed where her friend sat, and pulled her into a hug. Erza's arms wrapped themselves around her shoulders, pulling Lucy in tight against her body. The heiress didn't fail to notice the slight tremor ripping through her friend's body, the only reminder of the broken state she was in. A murmur rose from those around them as the others, too, saw the engagement ring on their friend's finger. They all stayed in their seats for what seemed like an eternity, trapped in their own minds. Erza in particular, forced to sit through a cycle of images all from the car crash leading up to Simon's collapse.

The moment of hellish solace, however, was interrupted by the sound of the door to the room being opened yet, an old man, a doctor they could tell, appearing with a grave look on his face. Erza lifted her head off of Lucy's shoulder, locking gazes with the man who's eyes only turned even sadder as he took in the hopefulness in her own amber irises.

And in her heart, Erza knew it was all over.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Ms. Scarlet," he began, sounding genuinely sincere. She always thought doctors nowadays rarely sounded sincere. They were desensitized to the impact and the meaning of the words they spoke when delivering the worst news possible. The air in the room seemed to thicken as the reason behind his appearance became clearer to everyone else, the sound of whispered curses and soft gasps fading into nothingness. "We did our best, but the cerebral hemorrhage was too quick, too intensive. I am surprised he lasted as long as he did, given the extent of his internal injuries, but he...the fight is over. For the moment, your fiancee is legally brain-dead, and there is little to no chance of him ever waking up. It would be a mercy to pull the plug on him sooner rather than later..."

The doctor trailed off, letting the meaning of his words sink into the occupants of the room. He knew it wasn't fair, to ask of them what he was about to, but as a doctor he was obliged to do his duties to the best of his abilities, for _all_ his patients. That included the dead and the dying, the injured and the broken.

"May I speak to Ms. Scarlet and Ms. Mikazuchi alone for a moment, please?" He smiled in gratitude as everyone immediately rose out of their seats and filed out their door, nodding thanks as they passed by him. He waited for the door to swing shut for the final time before turning back the room's remaining occupants, both looking downright distraught but doing nothing to comfort each other. Not yet, at least; they knew they needed a moment of privacy, to let the matter settle into their bones, their hearts. Rob kept his gaze on the floor, feeling the loss as if it had been one of his own. And for a moment, the three of them simply sat in silence, embracing that Simon, for all intent and purposes, was gone. Unsurprisingly, that thought didn't make it easier.

"Now, I know the timing may be unfair," he began speaking, shuffling closer to place a comforting hand atop Erza's and squeezing softly. She raised her head to give him a pitiful attempt of a smile, lips trembling for but a moment before she gave up. He understood. "However...your fiancee's tissue membrane, his cells... they completely match up with one of our patients that's in desperate need of a heart donor. Now, I know you're grieving and most likely not wanting to make such a dire decision right away, but...I really do need an answer. This young man's life depends on my diligence. Ms. Scarlet, Ms. Mikazuchi...are you willing to donate your loved one's beating heart to save another's life?"

Erza gave the man a bewildered look, barely able to comprehend what he was asking. Simon's heart was compatible with another? They wanted to...place _his heart_ in another? The selfish part of her wanted to say no, that her fiancee was to be buried with the heart that loved her so deeply, loved her enough to propose in the wake of destruction. She wanted to scream that they had no right to ask her of such things so soon, that his heart was hers to love and no one else's. And then she reconsidered her train of thought, mentally reprimanding herself and mulling the idea over; she was many things, but thoughtless and selfish was not a predominant trait. Simon...what would _Simon_ want? What would he do, if given the choice to choose?

And in that moment she knew.

He would sign the papers, sign his heart over, in a heartbeat. Without so much as a second thought. He had always been such a caring, selfless individual, putting the needs of others before himself. At times, she had found that trait exasperating, but it only made her love him more at the end of the day. He _would_ want this, he would want to save this unknown patient's life.

But was it her decision to be making?

"Kagura," her voice was hoarse, the result of the steady flow of sobs and screams that had left her just a few hours prior. The woman in question tore her gaze from the doctor to eye her friend, her sister in all but blood, with a look of deep concern, moving closer to the bed. "This is your decision to make just as much as it is mine. What do you-"

"Erza," Kagura smiled, her expression equally sad as it was affectionate. A smile curved her lips upwards as she observed the woman her brother had been so deeply in love with. There was a damper over her normally fiery spirit, she knew, but she would be offended it there wasn't. Erza Scarlet was aching in the worst way possible, and there was little she could do the soothe the pain. "He may have been my brother, but the doctor was right in assuming that this is your decision to make...his heart always belonged to you and no one else, after all."

She stared at her friend for a moment, searching her face for something unknown to even herself, before returning her gaze to the waiting doctor, her heartbeat quickening. If she gaze her permission, there was no going back. The papers would be signed, the necessary surgical procedures would be completed...Simon's body would be buried without a heart.

"It's odd," she whispered. "To think of burying him, Simon, without a heart. Simon, of all people. His heart had always led him through life, led him through the decisions he made as a person and as a member of society, and I...I couldn't help but feel it's wrong to relieve him of such a vital part of who he was. He deserves to be buried with the part of him that best represents him. But...but Simon was nothing but kind. His love for those around him made him shine brighter than any star in the sky, made me love him so much _more_."

Her resolve hardened as she let out the words that had been swirling around in her mind. It was almost like a confirmation, a reminder, of who Simon _truly_ was, and how he looked at the world.

"I know that if he were here, and if it were his decision to make instead of mine, he would sign the papers in a heartbeat. So, doctor, I...I can agree to the donation. It's what Simon would've wanted."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kagura nod slightly, as if she'd known that was what Erza's decision was, ultimately, going to be. Rob's entire demeanour brightened tenfold, and he thanked her profusely whilst handing her the necessary papers. As a businesswoman herself, she knew that reading through contracts was really important, but the face of an unknown patient, struggling to live, had her signing the papers without so much as a second guess.

It was when Rob turned to leave the room, however, that she felt an impulse of sorts. She had the sudden desire...to see the face of the patient who's body would be fixed with Simon's heart.

"Rob...may I see the patient?"

The doctor paused mid-stride, glancing at her over his shoulder. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded, and Erza was quick to clamber off the bed and follow him. At the door, however, she turned to ask Kagura if she wanted to come, to find the woman already behind her shaking her head no.

"I'm going to go get some coffee," Kagura murmured, touching Erza's shoulder in comfort before whirling around and heading in the opposite direction that Rob had began to walk in. Erza stared at her retreating form for a moment, glancing around for her family and finding no one before taking a deep breath and following the doctor down the winding hallway. They seemed to walk forever, cutting corners and climbing stairs, before reaching a secluded part of the hospital. Here it was more dimly lit, almost as if the lives it housed were too close to death's door for anything brighter. She shivered as the cool air raised goosebumps across her flesh, the AC working much more intensely in this ward than any other they had passed.

"Last room on the right," Rob's voice suddenly cut through her thoughts, and she raised her head to look at him. He was giving her a small smile, hands tracing the contour of the clipboard in his hands. The clipboard with the papers she'd sign, she knew. "I need to go and start making the surgery preparations immediately. Once more, thank you, Ms. Scarlet. Your selfless decision is about to save someone's life."

She nodded, trying to return the smile but failing miserably yet again. He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before going back the way they came, leaving her alone in the empty hallway staring at the door she had to go and open. It took all her willpower, but she was able to get her feet to move in the right direction, heart clenching painfully which each step. She passed door after door after door, before the final door loomed over her. Did she have the strength to open it? Could she endure the patient's family thanking her when she had yet to mourn over her loss properly?

It was then she noticed the window beside the door, larger enough for her to get a good look at the room beyond the door without having to actually go in. Erza's amber eyes trailed back and forth between the door and the window, silently trying to figure out what to do and finally deciding she was too much of a coward to face the family inside. Instead, she glanced in through the window, careful to keep her body hidden to not alert them to her presence.

There were a handful of people in there, either around the bed where a prone body lay or around the room. There was a ultramarine sitting with his back against the wall and his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Was he crying? Erza couldn't tell. Another, much older man stood near him, eyes clouded over with pain and posture defeated, broken. She thought he looked much like a father who's child was waiting on death to come and claim them. A strange pang echoed through her heart.

With a small shake of her head, she turned her focus onto the people around the bed. A beautiful, dark-haired woman sat on the left of the bed, tears flowing down her face and lips moving as she talked to the room's only other female occupant. A child, still in her early teens from the looks of it, held a limp hand between her small fingers and was tracing patterns across the patient's skin.

They were all hurting, all thinking their loved one was sentenced to death. They were waiting for it all to end, she realized, and her heart lightened with the knowledge that no, it wasn't to end here, and that they were getting a second chance. The man on the deathbed was getting a second chance.

Even from her distance, she could see how pale he was; she could see the various machines he was hooked onto. She could see a mop of shockingly blue hair, the exact same colour as the man on the floor. Slowly, albeit surely, her brain connected the dots; were they _twins_?

The sudden sound of voices brought her back to reality, and she glanced to her right to see a cluster of medical personnel hurrying towards the door. She took it as her cue to leave, knowing that they were going to take him into the emergency surgery now. She had to go find her family, had to go home...had to start making funeral arrangements with Kagura.

With a final glance at the ultramarine laying prone on the bed and the family that mourned for him, she hurried down the hallway and out of sight.

* * *

 _There were voices._

 _Uncoordinated ones. Some faint. Some shameless. They were jumping at him from all dark and indiscernible directions. Bouncing back and forth from him to against a wall that was either too far or too invisible to be seen. Ricocheting. Fleeting._

 _It reminded him of how he played tag in the dark as a child. He'd done it too many times to land himself in enough trouble by his parents when his older brother, himself, along with a couple of new recruits would set off car alarms. It was the life. They would often play in the streets of their respectful neighborhood, hunting and following each other's ephemeral signals and voices till their feet couldn't be supported by the wind anymore._

 _Nights were perfect, and breezy. The wind felt alive then, and so did he._

 _(Those were better times. Moments in his life he'd like to tell people was his childhood—running around the street and driveway of his home without a concern for the world._

 _Now, whenever the holidays came around, he'd pull up into an empty curb and his neighborhood was always just breezy.)_

 _Jellal asked the void._

Where was he?

 _He was at a major disadvantage. In a past he would have enjoyed talking about a long while ago, he would say that during his period of street games, that the lit poles paving the side of the streets had aided him in winning a whole bunch of them._

 _But in this darkness, there were no streetlights, there was no moonlight—there wasn't light at all. He only saw a body trapped within a yellow aura—his body. But to describe this aura as a beacon of light or flashlight was a huge fabrication, for it wasn't brightening anything. This ubiquitous black was blinding, and on top of that, there were the voices. Voices he still had yet to make sense of, voices that belonged to people who weren't visible. Or maybe they were, but it was too dark to see their faces._

 _"Where am I?" He asked out loud, hoping to finger an answer this time._

 _Of course, he didn't get one at all._

 _He got quite the contrary— the voices quieted themselves down at once, and they gave him the infamous silent treatment._

 _"Hello?" He called. "Anyone?"_

 _Jellal didn't know whether to call it destiny or if he was just darn lucky, but milliseconds later with that one plead for an individual, a voice crooned in his ear._

 _Walk, it said._

 _So he did._

 _It was as if his feet were somatic; they marched off on their own, one lifted knee after the other, toes stretching and curling one by one._ Where was he going? _Jellal felt himself crushing unknown distances._

 _But then it all came to a clumsy stop, and with his own jurisdiction settling back into the fibers of his calves and thighs, Jellal tumbled over a ground he couldn't see._

 _That moment was the breaking of a dam._

 _Events began unfolding after the other, seconds in the intervals, rippling over the other, one by one like waves._

 _The darkness began to give away to a murky gray._

 _Frantic ears picked up on a screech._

 _The screech and whine of a metal gate, opening._

 _When the blaring had ceased, Jellal looked up, quickly flummoxed by the abrupt plethora of light and smoke that was bearing its strength towards him. He held his forearm to his eyes, one lid shut, and one lid halfway open._

 _Jellal removed his forearm only when he felt sensitized and when the sight dulled just enough._

 _The smoke seemed to have dissipated._

 _He heard footsteps._

 _And he saw something _—shapes of light outlined by gray.__

 _Silhouettes, he realized. Silhouettes of people._

 _The footsteps were reverberating, splitting through and dominating the gaps of silence. Jellal had the instinctive to flee. He gaped questioningly as he saw one draw near, but it was as if he'd lost control of his legs again. He couldn't move._

 _The silhouette halted, and Jellal swallowed. With a single speedy scanning, it was lucid—it was a woman._

 _Her black and white silhouette painted her with long hair. A curvaceous body._

 _And it stayed so quiet for so long that when he received nothing after_ _trying to search for a manifestation of a face along the blankness of her head_ _, he realized then that she was holding her ethereal hand out to him, and the friends behind her—he saw to their gray smiles._

 _Should he push it away?_

 _Or should he take it?_

* * *

When the inkiness started giving way to a blinding light, he felt pain quickly blossom in the center and surge throughout his body. Also, his nose—what was happening to his nose? If Jellal had to describe the feeling, it was like someone was shoving their two bony fingers up his nostrils. Not only that, but he felt air. This uncomfortable invasion of fingers was filling the inside of his nasal caverns with a cold, drying air that he didn't necessarily appreciate.

 _What was going on?_

He tried not to let himself go back into the exhaustion he suddenly felt wash over him. He tried not to go back to that cliffhanging dream.

That _weird_ , cliffhanging dream.

Luckily for him, the intensity of the light above him was too harsh to bear, and he couldn't go back even if he wanted to. And as he felt more brightness forcing his lids back shut, the more he felt drawn into the present situation.

He'd be _damned_ if that wasn't oxygen inflating his lungs.

Was he really reading this right? He was _breathing_. At least, that's what it seemed like, but—

—didn't he die an hour ago?

Jellal blinked. Over and over.

...Was he in the afterlife?

The more he inhaled his confusion altogether, the easier it was to accept what was indeed occurring—yes, that was air alright.

But as light soon headed towards clarity, and with the blurriness morphing into a fair enough picture, he was able to cross out a number of things.

1) No sun of spring.

2) No pretty blue skies.

3) No majestic meadow.

4) The fact that she wasn't there.

He ruled out the notion of _heaven_ in an instant.

This couldn't have been that. Maybe he was in purgatory. Or Hell. But what kind of Hell was this ...glaring? Was he ablaze in fire? That seemed feasible enough to explain the aching in his upper half.

He felt like a newborn baby that was seeing the world for the first time. Still, before he could become completely aware of where he was, a pain kicked up against his chest and sent his body writhing. With a hoarse noise that made his throat burn, he squinted and turned his head onto its side, his vision hazing for a fugitive moment.

And it was those few vulnerable seconds of rapid blinking that he really realized the way his chest falling and rising.

More blinking.

More breathing.

Regaining ground, when adjusted back to his original position, reality took a toll on his thoughts, and he circled his surroundings with newer eyes.

This light... was a ceiling light.

These annoying fingers rudely picking his nose—it was a nasal cannula.

That razor sharp pain that perpetrated his bringing back into the world was from somewhere underneath the heavy bandages wrapped around his chest.

And the face which was streaked with tears, hovering above him and wailing out his name, well—that was the face of his annoying best friend, Ultear Milkovich.

There were more faces, he came to notice, and there was a strong pressure on both of his hands. One small, one bigger. He looked down to see that he was fit in a blue hospital gown, under one linen sheet and a thick, brown blanket he came to recognize as the one from his bedroom back at home. Then he looked up, and dawn spoke its presence to him. He saw the sun he knew for twenty five years spill through the curtains in its own covert and modest way. His sight soon landed on resting chairs, on a table, and on a hardly touched tray of food, before his head dropped the other way and saw to the tall IV drip perched on the side of his crinkly bed.

If he could, he would've patted himself on the back for being correct for once (even though three erroneous statements existed prior). This was not heaven, nor hell, or purgatory.

He scribbled out the notion of the afterlife altogether.

This was a hospital room, and he was alive.

The voices jumped at him even louder after he acknowledged it, almost as if they were privy to his dubiety and decided to make like a teacher would to affirm it.

"Jellal, can you hear me?"

"Big brother, we're here!"

"How are you feeling?"

"Thank the Lord… you're awake."

Jellal pursued the last sound with slow, half-lidded eyes, and caught view of the fifty five year old, hoary haired man hunched over the side of his bed, cradling and crying into his hand.

He wouldn't deny his own confusion. It felt wrong to look at him with the blankness on his face. To look at the wetness on his father's cheeks and not know why. But the feeling didn't last too long anyways.

A sudden closing of his throat hindered Jellal before he could speak for it. There was a tightening in his chest— another uncomfortable feeling he didn't appreciate. His throat was closing on him. Because the recollections of what had wound him up in this sensitive state, although as disoriented as they were, the mere sense of familiarity of his father crying was enough to overwhelm him.

"Dad," Jellal whispered. Nothing had ever felt so heavy to say before. Faust, not opening his eyes, just nodded his head. The old man was flushed. His cheeks were flushed, his eye bags were flushed. But through all the red, he was pale. Trembling like he'd been out too long on Sorciere's streets in the wintertime.

"Son, don't mind me," Faust said. It was as if he was experiencing his own personal earthquake. Jellal squeezed his hand—more like, tried—but he had no way to check if it was too feeble to be felt. His concern was rectified though when his father's fragile hand squeezed back.

Jellal drew a breath before giving attention to the other faces in the room.

His young sister was present, and so was the eldest of their family. _My sister and brother_ , Jellal repeated in his head, fearful that he'd forget. _Wendy. Mystogan._

They were standing at the foot of his bed; Wendy's shoulders were much like their father's, but Mystogan's were shaking a different way.

It was only natural for him to wonder. "Why are you laughing?" Jellal asked.

Mystogan shook his head. His whole upper half was practically vibrating, and Jellal thought he could almost catch the waves. "Nothing."

Jellal didn't exactly know how to categorize the sudden glimmer of tears on Mystogan's face. As his younger brother (by a shocking total of two minutes and forty seven seconds), he knew the older man to be not very profound of an exhibitionist. Jellal saw him cry once, and that'd been when everyone was crying.

Mystogan dragged his palm across his face and laughed some more. "You're spreading heart attacks wherever you go little brother. "

"I am?"

"Do you know how long you've been here? Do you even know what's going on?"

Jellal stared aimlessly at the ceiling, and tried to come up with a reason not to say 'no' too immediately. But he didn't reach one; the only thing fresh in his memory that could be recalled without a hitch was what he thought happened one hour ago— the withering of his all the muscles in his chest, and his body withering along with it. He collapsed all the way to the carpeted floor of his living room. There was that, plus the little bits beyond it that helped him identify the people around him.

"I guess I don't know," Jellal stared with more intent and blew out wearily. Mystogan opened his mouth and looked like he wanted to say something, but he pressed his lips together instead.

From his right, Jellal felt a squeeze on his fingers.

Jellal turned his head, experiencing a mini heart attack. He absorbed Ultear's disheveled but smiling appearance.

"You didn't forget about me, did you?" She questioned.

He curled his fingers into her grip as an answer, but she slipped her hand away the same second and stroked his hair instead. Her dark brown eyes followed her hand. His remained the way it was—on hers, especially as her thumb smoothed over the middle of his brows.

"Looks like all those transplant appointments we went to weren't a waste after all," she whispered.

Jellal mulled her soft words over.

 _Transplant?_

He coughed into the link of his elbow and ignored the pain, hoarsely asking, "What do you mean by that—"

"Well, look who's awake!"

All heads sought out the interruption. A young nurse with blonde hair barreled through the now open door and steered in with a loud cart of medical equipment. A taller and more mature appearing man with longer, snowy robes tailed her, suggesting a difference in medical ranks.

The man—the doctor— was holding a clipboard against his chest as he posted himself next to his father, who held nothing but watery gratitude in his eyes. Jellal found himself glancing at the identification card clipped to the old man's front pocket.

 _Sorciere Hospital_

 _Dr. Rob, cardiac surgeon_

Rob smiled down at Jellal's father. His tiny eyes seemed to vanish even more so with the kind gesture. The seams of his lids disappeared into the wrinkles around his eyes, like he was squinting all the time.

He turned to Jellal. "Hello, Jellal. I'm Dr. Rob. Feel free to call me Rob on its own if that suits you. I'm a cardiac surgeon here at Sorciere hospital. I was the one who performed surgery on you. My assistant, I hope you don't mind, will be doing a couple of procedural check ups on you right now."

Ultear forfeited her seat and granted the nurse and her equipment access to Jellal. The woman, when right at his side, fished something out of her pocket— a small, gray remote. When she pressed one of the few buttons on it, before he could completely register what was happening, Jellal felt himself slowly rising with the whirring, moving sound of his bed. When it came to a stop and everything grew quiet again, she guided him to better comfort in the new sitting position, feathered a light hand over the skin of his forehead and reached around her neck for her stethoscope. Fingers around the thick bell of it, the nurse snuck her hand through the big side gap of his hospital grown, and she held the cool platform over his pectoral and switched to a few spots on his backside. It was like they'd left the medical tool in a freezer. The nurse's gelid touch summoned goosebumps from his skin, and Jellal shivered.

"Are you in any pain?" She asked. Jellal glanced at her name badge too. _Sandy._ "How does your chest feel? Do you have any pains from breathing, or coughing? Talking?"

"Uh, yeah I guess?" He stumbled for the right words. "It's painful when I cough."

Sandy made an _mmm_ sound, and nodded. "We'll give you some medication to ease the pain. Don't worry about it. That's a normal thing for patients who have heart transplants."

Jellal stiffened and widened his eyes. Again, there was that word. _Transplant._ "What did you say?"

"You'll be given medications to help dilate the control of the pain from your heart transplant," she said again, oblivious to the shock in his voice. A pen was in her hand, and she was scribbling something down in her own pink clipboard. "For the rest of your stay here, I'll teach you about the multiple drugs you'll have to take that'll help regulate your health and prevent rejection."

"It'll feel overwhelming at first," Rob cut in, not grinning anymore (although his pupils were still practically invisible at a default), and Jellal stared at him with an open mouth, "but the pills we give you are not to help only you, but also the donated organ inside of you. Rejection of your heart transplant is the most critical part, the most important one, Jellal."

He could barely wrap himself around it.

 _Looks like all those transplant appointments weren't a waste after all._

This wasn't his heart. There was... a heart...a healthy beating heart behind this sweaty layer of bandaging, but not the one he was brought into the world with, not the one his mother gave to him. Someone else's heart was pumping blood throughout his body. Someone else's heart was giving his chest air to breathe. This _wasn't his_. "Why do I have a new heart?"

Out of his peripheral, Jellal spotted both of his siblings, along with Ultear, frowning.

"I thought I died," he clarified, raspy. "I remembered dying."

"You did die, brother," Wendy mumbled into her sleeve. "You were going to, at least."

"Someone donated it to you," Ultear said solemnly, sounding as if his words seared something out of her. She had a tired look like one of those teachers when faced with a student who shouldn't have been asking questions at all.

Jellal swallowed, but still made his expression hard. "Yeah, but who?"

Sandy didn't seem to care about the tension swimming in the atmosphere, or maybe she just didn't notice, because when he put the question out there for answering, she flashed Jellal a toothy smile and placed her clipboard down. Sandy tucked one of her loose flaxen strands of hair behind her ear and grabbed another item off her cart. Wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his bicep, she winked at him, and her tone held all sorts of glitter when she whispered, "A beautiful redheaded savior."

Yeah, she probably didn't notice.

But she said it and answered him with such dream and reverie that it happened to do a number on the air around them altogether, her jocund attitude growing contagious. To the point where he actually felt the stiffness in himself fade, and wanted to know more.

 _A beautiful redheaded savior._

"It was a lady?" Jellal asked, eyeing his family. "A lady donated her heart?"

"We... don't know," Mystogan scrunched his brows, crossing his arms in a mien of reflection, "because nobody came in. Before you went into the operating room, there was nobody but the four of us."

"It was last minute," Dr. Rob interrupted, tone holding finality. His voice overruled and dominated the rest of the mouths in the room. "Your whole operation was last minute. And yes, it was a lady, but it was not her own heart. Due to reasons of client confidentiality, we have been asked not to relay any more information." He stared across at Sandy, and Sandy nodded vigorously. Jellal felt the pressure on his arm swelling from the blood pressure cuff she'd winded around him. After some beeping, when it deflated, a seemingly downbeat Sandy removed the wrap without a word and put it back on her cart, wheeling away, silver cart and all, with a mumbled, "I'll be back with your medications."

Jellal pursed his lips as she exited the room.

He clenched his teeth furtively. Disappointment made his stomach churn. "I can't even thank the person who helped me?" Jellal whispered.

His father rubbed his hand. "Jellal."

Said twenty five year old shook his head.

"Dr. Rob is the reason you are here with us. Please. I know this is hard, but—"

"I already know. I'm acting childish," Jellal murmured. "Sorry."

"It's alright, Jellal. Most patients have a hard time coping with the sudden change. You are not a new case in that department," Rob started, clement. "Concerning the topic about your donor...she was not... in a state to communicate. Your transplant was one in a million, Jellal. It was a last minute thing, like I said before. This lady...this redheaded savior...she had her own personal reasons for being at our hospital, reasons we can't reveal to you. She left earlier this week. I'm sorry."

Jellal said nothing more.

He just glimpsed down, lifted his free hand and ran his calloused, yet limbered fingers across the tender scar he felt pulsating from underneath all the tight bandages. He stared without a word and with hopeless focus, like he could see through all the bones and skin, and tried to scrutinize a heart that wasn't even his.

* * *

"You drank that faster than I would have ever expected," Ultear said. Jellal smiled sheepishly.

The two were in his room, dining on breakfast courtesy of the hospital. His father and siblings set on for downstairs to satisfy their own hungers in the cafeteria, and they'd decided to give some time to Ultear and Jellal while they ate their own.

Breakfast this time around, however, was much more a mockery than anything else. Ultear's tray—a sexy display of French toast, a tall glass of orange juice, and a side bowl of season ripe strawberries. His bed tray? A glass of cranberry juice. Jellal didn't have much of an appetite to begin with, but he felt like someone in his conscience was snickering inconspicuously that his glass wasn't even as tall as hers.

* * *

 _"For now, Mr. Fernandes, your diet will primarily consist of clear liquids. We need to take things slow, and we need to learn to be patient at this stage. Heart transplants aren't as accepting as you may think," Dr. Rob, with a wave of his hand, ushered in a nurse._ _It was Sandy, from earlier._ _"Jello, ices, ginger-ale, and a different variety of juices will be served to you. When we see that you can drink these with ease and that you are capable of tolerating more, your diet will upgrade to a full liquid one. Again, we'll see how your body reacts with these, and if you are able to consume them sufficiently, your next genre of foods will include full solids. Any questions?"_

 _Jellal_ _folded his lower lip_ _, but didn't have any._ _Sandy_ _set down a medium sized glass of blood red liquid in front of him before she_ _floated_ _to_ _Rob's side._

 _"What's this?" Jellal asked, wrapping a_ _hesitant_ _hand around the cool of the glass._

 _"Cranberry juice," Rob bowed his head, a regal aura around him. "Enjoy your breakfast, Mr. Fernandes."_

* * *

Still, it was one of the best glasses of cranberry juice he'd ever had the pleasure of slurping down.

And that said enough considering he had an original disdain for it before his life-altering surgery.

It was so odd though, the sensation of having something refreshing such as juice soothe his throat again. The feeling of drinking again _in general_. Ultear had told him he was connected to machines and monitors for days. He'd survived on them—relied on them, as they inserted a whole assortment of tubes down his throat and nostrils and God knows elsewhere. He'd been unconscious then, and he didn't recall anything distinctive, but with the first sip of cranberry juice, he felt like he was sipping on liquid gold. He was drinking the blood of God.

And breathing. Breathing was different too.

He was still off about the whole ... plight. But to say he had a healthy heart was an understatement, and an oversimplification if he ever heard one. Jellal wasn't short on breath. He had no aches to worry about. No persistent streaks of vehement coughing or wheezing. No nothing. Nothing besides the countless amount of pills he had to take daily, anyways. _Immunosupressants,_ Sandy had called them.

For once in his life, he actually felt like he could breathe. Like he was meant to all along.

Jellal inhaled in and out a few times, studying the way air filtered in and out of him with a smoothness he hadn't experienced until of late, before he hooked onto something out of the corner of his eye.

He pegged to further close in on his best friend, Ultear, who's eyes were clouded and zoned in on her food. Jellal leaned in closer, and she instantly backed up, jolted.

"What?" She glared and forked a hasty piece of toast in her mouth. "Never seen a woman eat _bread_ before?"

"You're not even eating," he pointed out. When he said she had a plate of french toast, it literally was a _full_ plate of french toast. It was hardly touched.

"I am," she defied.

He sighed. "Look, Ultear. I apologize for what happened earlier."

She gave him a funny look, but funny went to dumbfounded and dumbfounded went to realization real fast. The sort of downcast realization that only happened when one triggered a memory that wanted to be forgotten. "You're sorry?"

"I am. I was just," Jellal sighed again, flaring his nostrils, "unsettled by the whole thing. It just felt wrong to think that this heart isn't mine. I'm really sorry if I angered you."

Ultear kept some seconds to herself before nodding. "It's fine. I understand."

"Do you?"

She munched on another piece of toast. "Yeah."

"Okay."

Ultear shifted in her seat. "Okay."

Silence. For approximately thirty seconds.

Jellal tried again. "I'm sorry, Ultear. Are you sure you're fine?"

"I am! God, Jellal, what's up with _you?_ Did that new heart change your personality or something?"

"No," he blinked, "it didn't."

"Then what's going on?"

"You're crying."

Her utensil fell onto her plate with a cling. "Of course I'm not."

"I'm looking at you," he twisted and gaped at her with artificial amazement. "And that's what I'm seeing."

"Look here—"

"I can't believe it…Ultear, Miss 'Too Cool For School, Bare Knuckled Fighter, Notorious Ketchup Eater, Would Fight A Mountain Lion And Try To Keep It' Milkovich, is _crying_?" Jellal joked. "That's incredible if you ask me."

He chuckled despite himself, but he stopped short when he discovered that she was looking at her lap instead of attacking back.

Guilt delivered a whopping punch to the ring of his stomach.

"Sorry," he was quick to say, "I didn't mean to make you feel—"

"What the hell," she whined, and the voice he —with _love, of course_ — came to proclaim as witch-like over the years was now unsettling. "Don't be an asshole…

"I was worried about you, Jellal," she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip and twiddled with her cracked ruby nail polish, a shake on her shoulders. "You were dying. You were on the living room floor, dying. You'd stopped breathing, and…I thought you were going to abandon me. Like..."

Her voice bordered to nothing. He could have said something then. To replace the small pause that spoke _novels._ But he chose to emphasize the silence underneath the continual, slow beeping of his cardiac monitor.

If he replied, he realized that it would make her feel obligated to look him in the eyes while he was talking. And that was beyond unfair. She didn't need to force herself. It sucked enough, as her best friend, to listen to the obvious hurt ending her words. It sucked big time to even have to witness her like this at all, with her face all chalked up and stiff and wet at the same time, to see the skin under her blood ringed eyes shaded a well culminated lilac; because while it was one thing to make Ultear angry, likewise, it was another distant idea to bring her on the edge of tears.

Sorrow, he knew, yanked out a different person layered deep within her altogether. In a way, it reminded Jellal of himself.

Maybe that was why their friendship just worked.

Maybe that was why they've been friends for over fifteen years.

Maybe that was why, at that moment, he went:

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing already," she snapped so fast. "You're so annoying."

"You do know that I care about you, right?"

"Shut up," she sobbed into her hands. "You're such a nerd."

He half-smiled at that. "Hey, you want to know something?"

Ultear looked up at him then, a glassy but pensive look on her face.

"No," she said. "Silence yourself already."

"When I first woke up, and saw you, you know what I thought?"

Ultear made a noise that sounded like a scoff, and he almost flinched at the torpidity. It was so inert. Lifeless. "Fine. What did you think?"

Jellal grinned crookedly—just like at the nerd standard she saved just for him.

"I thought I was in hell."

 _As blunt as a blunt_ , his father would say.

He stared at her, expectant. He wouldn't say her reaction was priceless, but God—it was enough. There was barely a change at all, not a hampering on her tears or a brave stop against the tremulousness sending emotion through her jaw, but all that mattered was that there was a laugh. Her laugh. _Ultear's laugh_. Jellal smiled, and watched her bury her face into her sleeve. "You fucking jerk," she swore. "Do you want to be?"

"Maybe."

"You're an idiot."

He reached his hand up and pushed a clumped piece of her messy bun back into place. "One last thing. You look terrible."

She sniffed and leaned into his touch. And finally, there it was. There was his Ultear. "I'll seriously send you there myself, Fernandes."

* * *

They were going to be discharged the next morning.

For the past week and a half, it seemed all Jellal had been doing other than make small talk with the little company he had was sleeping, taking immunosupressants, and drinking juice. Doctor Rob and Sandy barely moved up his diet to solids three days ago. There was all that, plus the reruns of the Ellen show which kept Jellal occupied before he succumbed back into repose.

Jellal was no longer hooked to an IV drip, or the assortment of machines that had gifted him inconvenience the first day. He was no longer in that airy hospital gown.

He was sitting on his bed, in gray sweats and a thin v-neck, watching what Mystogan and Wendy had been watching before they fell asleep alongside Ultear. Sandy advised him to dress light for the sake of body heat and his own personal comfort. His body still needed months to get to the point of resilience where they all wanted it to be.

Jellal glanced over to the man who was up with him and lounging beside his side, aged eyes focused on the same outdated television box hanging from the ceiling.

"Dad," Jellal murmured, touching his hand.

It'd been a challenge to engage in conversation with his father all week. All Jellal saw whenever he drew his attention towards the gray pair of pupils his old man was sporting, was the upsetting vignette of his father in tears.

It was so unbearable—how _evocative_ it was.

Sometimes though, the ramifications didn't come as swift as they could. Sometimes, they were like whip-lash and tended to save the abuse towards his stoical-taught composure for later.

But right now, as he looked in the eyes of his father who was settled on the direct left of him, Jellal couldn't help but be stunned as he felt himself sink too deep into a state of acrimony when he, for the first time that week, didn't imagine his father crying.

It was everything Jellal didn't expect in that brevity of reaction, but something such as contorting with people's expectations was everything you could have expected from Jellal's father.

He didn't see tears.

The pinched corner of his father's pastel lips slowly perked up, before the old man turned altogether to give his son a better perspective of a closed mouth smile that was enough to wear out Jellal's new heart with one glance.

And it only made Jellal more intensely aware of the reason why days which had passed with stills of quietude between him and his father even existed.

He knew what his father was about to say.

"Don't," Jellal exhaled, trying to restrain the emotion pulling back his jaw and pouring out into the one syllable. He said it with the kind of inexplicable desperation that threw him too far back into the past, and it rendered him breathless.

 _Don't. Don't. Don't._

"Son..."

Jellal stared at his lap. His throat seized up. He didn't want to talk about whatever was coming up.

There were no words. He'd always let them slip through his fingers right when he found them, and it'd only been too hard to breathe when he tried to utilize whatever he garnered. Now was no exception, with or without his transplant.

"Please," Faust said, and the look in his father's eyes made his body shake. He stacked his hand over Jellal's and squeezed before Jellal could jerk it away.

"If we're going to talk, I don't want to talk about that."

"You can't ignore that part of your life, Jellal."

Jellal sucked in his lips, curving his fingers inwards and pinching the heel of his palm with his nails. "I'm not ignoring it," he said in the sternest way possible. "I just don't want to remember it."

Faust was quiet.

The whole sojourn was quiet, and nothing else could be made out other than the feminine voice of the popular talk show host displayed over the high propped television picture.

Jellal still had months of recovery ahead of him. A passerby might see his body, and they might come to their own passive conclusion that he was fine and life was treating him well with succor. Sandy replaced the week old bandages molding across and back his chest with a new tape altogether. He appeared healthier. Better. And if Jellal was clad in a sweater of some sort, they wouldn't be able to tell anything was even wrong with him in the first place.

Personal conclusions were more than fallacious with Jellal though.

You truly couldn't judge a tragedy like Jellal based on the cover.

Before this, he was perambulating through streets and bookstores and through music shops like nothing was wrong with him, but he'd went to those places for reasons—reasons that could not be elucidated with any other conclusion besides the truth that they were serene and kept his heart stress-free.

There was a drying humor in proving doctoral prescriptions wrong.

 _Don't strain oneself?_

He was never stress-free, no matter what angle you scoped Jellal from.

And exchanging words with his dad like this so late in the night only made the slap from reality more sullen than it already was. Nowadays, Jellal always had the hunch that this was all a pretext—that his old heart didn't die on him from just a tragic case of systolic heart failure.

As a man of music, abstractions rode over his mind on a regular basis, and they happened to weave themselves into the crochet of that particular hunch of his. Abstractions such as mental heartbreak.

With a puff of his cheeks, Jellal blew out, not gaining anything from the silence volumizing in tension by the seconds. He figured that if he was about to cry into his father's arms like he did over a decade ago, he might as well do it while everybody else in the room was still miles into slumber.

"Nevermind. Sorry," Jellal said, pressing his mouth together after each string of letters. He gazed through the hospital window flanking him from the right and stupidly attempted to seek the cold gale he knew was gusting outside. "I'm fine. Go ahead and say what you want to say."

Faust paused and widened his eyes. "Jellal—"

"I haven't spoken to you in a proper conversation since that day I woke up. Just say it already. I know what you're thinking already. I thought of the same thing too that morning."

Jellal felt the air being constricted in his palm. If there was a time for his father to cry himself, it was now. He'd do it like he did a week and a half ago—into Jellal's hand.

"I looked like someone then," Jellal continued through his teeth, swallowing. "Didn't I?"

He heard his father make a heaving sound. Jellal's hand rattled along with his dad's.

"You did," Faust whispered.

"I know," Jellal said over the stratum in his throat.

"When... Ultear called our house phone and told us you were being rushed to the emergency room, it took a very long time for us to even get into the car," Faust said. Jellal could sense his father's lips shuddering into his fist. "It was like I couldn't breathe either...

"And that moment when me and your siblings finally made it to the hospital, I saw you and..."

Jellal could finish that sentence in his head without his father finishing it for him.

Memories like that were core memories, and he ended up filling in the blank space his father had left open.

"I was the spitting image of mom," and Jellal couldn't understand why gravity didn't let him wipe away the tears clinging to his eyelashes. They burned. Even if he fluttered them gone with seconds of frantic blinking, they were extant and still burned the flesh lining his lids to an unfair degree.

When Jellal pulled out some courage to turn his head and look down at his father, Faust was glass-eyed and his cheeks were flushed and wet like before.

Jellal felt the same heaviness weigh down his shoulders as that first morning, and breathed, " _Dad_."

 _Please. Don't cry._

"I really wish I could have met this hero of yours, Jellal," Faust whimpered, cheeks shining from their miniature rivulets as he shook in place. "I want to thank her. For saving you. For letting me see my young son breathe again, and for not allowing death to take you away from me too."

Jellal leaned down and placed his free hand on top of his father's, a sob rolling up his throat.

"I'd do anything to thank that person," Faust cried, words replete with sniffles. "Anything."

Jellal whispered a low and rough, "Yeah," before lifting their locked hands upwards and exhaling warmth over it. "I love you, dad. I do."

Faust nodded and licked the tears over his upper lip before nodding again.

It occurred to Jellal then and only then, that his father really...was _his_ father. Traits were passed onto him, and if Jellal would ever have children in the future, he knew his own genetics would be inherited as well.

For years, Jellal longed to escape the tormenting remnants of his life, but he'd never do it without a goodbye to his family. To his dad. His brother. Sister. His best friend. He thought of that dream, and the possibility that he'd been dreaming of the people he held close to his heart the whole time. That they were the ones who wrenched him back to life, and that his hero—this hero of his was that silhouette who'd offered her hand.

His mind and his father's wishes were one and the same.

Jellal was arrant with gratefulness. He wanted to thank that redheaded savior too—to fully comprehend the trance he'd been acquainted with from Sandy earlier that week.

He needed to find a way to dispose of the gratitude.

 _A beautiful redheaded savior._

"Dad."

"Yes?"

Jellal didn't hesitate on anymore of the vow as it rippled off his tongue.

"I'm going to find her."

* * *

 **Kesh's A/N: We're spoiling you guys already, with extra long chapters pfft. On another note, I'd be lying if I said the Simon/Erza was easy to write...because it wasn't. At all. Nonetheless, we start off with some delightful angst and a character death already! I would like to apologize to those of you on Tumblr who read the small teaser I posted, and automatically assumed we were killing Jellal off! I hope I didn't cause you too much heartache :) We'd love to hear your thoughts, opinions, and predictions!**

 **Jan's A/N: GETCHO HEARTS WRECKED. (Thank you guys for reading, we hope to satisfy your thoughts and needs with the upcoming chapters! Kesh and I plan to switch around with the POV parts in this collab regularly. For our prologue, Erza's part was written by Kesh, Jellal's was written by me. We hope there's no confusion with how we're handling things. Also, just one more thing: we originally intended this to be a mere 5k and 13k fucking flew beyond our expectations so *ahem* anyways, I say this with as much tameness as possible—we hope you guys don't expect 13k long chapters every time there's an update. Alright, see you guys! Please please please review. They motivate us.)**


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